


Most Boys

by beamings



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-14 08:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1260106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beamings/pseuds/beamings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Pendragon is not like most boys, and neither is his manservant Merlin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 could be read alone as a complete story

Most boys Arthur’s age would be out romping with girls, having a tumble or two, and getting lost in the headiness of the tavern mead.

But then again, most boys Arthur’s age weren’t preparing to lead their first battle.

Most boys hadn’t had a personal manservant since the age of five.

And no one else Arthur’s age was the crown prince of Camelot.

The villagers and townspeople of Camelot were still out in the streets, despite the rapidly sinking sun.  The annual troupe of acrobats and performers had just left town, leaving a wake of drunken excitedness in their trail.  This August had been exceptionally warm, but now they reveled in the comforting warmth, the buzz of amiable chatter enveloping the Citadel like a shroud.

But Arthur?  Arthur did not partake in the festivities or share in the relaxed lull. Arthur had to worry about the barbarian invaders from Umbria that even now were making their passage towards the lower villages.  Arthur was facing the eve of his maiden battle as Prince of Camelot.  He would have his own men, his own strategies, his own victories and failures.  And all he had now was 15 years of royal training and a manservant named Merlin.

“Merlin!”  Arthur bellowed, as much as a 15 year old could bellow, for the other boy, who was nowhere to be found.

At that moment Merlin burst into Arthur’s chambers with yet another steaming bucket of water.

“Just fetching the final pail for your bath, _sire_.”

Merlin’s voice held the same ridiculous insolence as always, and Arthur watched as he clumsily went about his duties.

Of all the manservants he’d had, Merlin was by far the worst, but he didn’t treat Arthur like a child or a god, but as an equal.

“One day you’ll pay for that cheek, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice, on the other hand, was flat and somber, a mere imitation of the usually good-natured prince.

“I’d like to see that, _sire_ ,” Merlin replied, his voice softer, but no less Merlin than ever.

Merlin helped Arthur bathe, using an old cloth to wipe away the stains of the day’s work.  As he picked up the cloth out of the cooling broth, water dripped in rivulets down Arthur’s back, unusually defined for a young boy.  Yet even as the suds were washed away and Arthur was stepping out of the bath, Merlin could still read the tension in every line of muscle.

“Sire.”  Merlin’s voice was bereft of all cajoling.

“That’ll be all, Merlin.”

And Merlin left, retiring to the small personal spaces he occupied that adjoined to Arthur’s much larger chambers.

Arthur dressed himself with some difficulty, but did not immediately go to his bed.  Instead he watched from his elevated window the antics of the people, _his_ people, in the streets below.

A young girl, awake long past when she should have gone to sleep, twirled in the middle of the courtyard, her exuberantly colored skirts flaring about her in a bell shape.  Men of various ages, shapes, and sizes passed in and out of the tavern doors. Older boys and girls snuck off in twos to various dark corners and alleys.

_The things they don’t know_ , thought Arthur.

Growing weary of carrying the weight of their life in comparison to his own, Arthur padded over to his bed, extinguishing a sole flickering candle on his way.

As the room was plunged into darkness, Arthur pulled the covers tight around him, shivering despite the moist warmth that permeated the castle walls.

His racing mind was alive in the silence, yelling, whispering, speaking his every thought to him.  The images of Camelot flashed by as they were replaced with the gruesome tales of war that the knights were all too happy to tell Arthur. No one had told them the dangers of molding such an impressionable young mind.

Finally, exhaustion overpowered Arthur’s brain and he floated in and out of consciousness as he slept.  At some point during the night, he was aware that he had spoken a word aloud, and his mouth still tasted of Merlin’s name.  He was starting to doubt himself and drift off to sleep once more when he heard the timid footsteps.

“Merlin.”  Arthur whispered again, but it was enough.  Merlin strode over to Arthur’s side, hesitating only briefly at the bedpost before seeing Arthur’s disconcerted face and continuing on.

Wordlessly, Merlin pulled back the covers just enough to slide gently into the bed space beside Arthur.  It had been so long since Arthur had received any caring attention, and he jerked at Merlin’s touch.

A hand on Arthur’s arm.

It stayed there, without pressure, until the firing nerve endings calmed and Arthur melted before the affection.

Now confident in his actions, Merlin again became the manservant, maneuvering Arthur until their bodies were flush. Merlin’s arms wrapped around Arthur’s body, warm and surprising solid given Merlin’s slight frame. Arthur could feel as Merlin’s hot breath wisped across the nape of his neck, bristling the hairs there and sending a shiver through Arthur’s skin.  He closed his eyes again as he concentrated on each point of contact, the fiery burn of skin on skin.

“Sleep, Arthur.”  Merlin’s voice ghosted across his ear, the words so soft, Arthur would have discounted them, were it not for the goose bumps that remained on his arms.

And with those words, Arthur did sleep, and he didn’t wake until morning, where he found himself still in Merlin’s arms.

They each went about their morning routines as usual, but there was no lively banter or insults, as Merlin and Arthur both contemplated the day’s coming events.

Merlin was just fastening the last buckle on Arthur’s breastplate, fashioned especially for his small size.  His eyes were lowered and his long eyelashes drifted across the pale expanses of sculpted cheekbones.

“Merlin.”  Arthur’s voice was imploring.

“Arthur.”  Merlin responded, cautioning.

Arthur brought both of his gloved hands up to encapsulate Merlin’s face, the leather rough against soft skin and his thumb tracing wonderingly across the fine features.

Their world hovered on a precipice for one second, two. Then Arthur brought it crashing over as he drew Merlin’s lips to his own.  It was chaste and simple and they shared their morning breath and chapped lips and inexperience, but it told a story that neither one dared speak aloud, and it encompassed more declarations than could ever be expressed in mere words.

For Arthur was not most boys, and nor was Merlin.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin stood close to Arthur in the hastily made tent.  His fingers moved deftly over the chainmail and armor as it slotted into place on Arthur’s body, but he was slow and deliberate, lest his fingers betray him and start to shake. In contrast, Arthur’s muscles were pulled tight, the sinewy tendons taught and prepared to snap into action at any moment. His jaw was set and Merlin could see the pulse beating an erratic rhythm underneath the smooth skin. Arthur glared at a spot of light that filtered through a hole in the tent, his eyes glazing over, only breaking focus when Merlin finished off the tie of his cape and stepped away to fasten his own armor.

It was then that Merlin let himself exhale and drop his defenses, but only minimally, as he was still aware of Arthur’s eyes on him, in fact, Arthur was transfixed and tracking every move.  Merlin’s hands fumbled over the clasp of his gauntlet once, twice, three times before Arthur strode over wordlessly, replacing Merlin’s fingers with his own. 

A thank you formed on Merlin’s lips, but the words fell away into the stale air.

“There,” murmured Arthur, and he turned away to exit the tent.

Merlin scrambled for words and finally, “Arthur,” he coughed, his voice thick from disuse.  “Your sword.”

Merlin held out the gleaming scabbard and Arthur took it, nodding firmly in acknowledgment.

Merlin followed Arthur out of the tent, his long legs soon bringing him alongside the other man, their strides falling in tandem as the approached the already gathered army of Camelot.

Arthur’s personal fleet stood a bit aside from the larger group, patiently waiting for their prince.  Uther had put together a group of men that would train alongside Arthur, but some veteran knights were included, their Camelot red capes only slightly faded in comparison.

The apparent leader of the group was a towering man named Leon. Leon had been Uther’s most trusted knight and indeed right-hand man for as long as Arthur could recall, but now he stood by Arthur.

Having left the shaky uncertainty of a boy behind in the tent, Arthur now faced his men.

“Today, I am honored—“ Arthur’s voice cracked slightly and Merlin winced as small titters fluttered through the group before they were glared into silence.

“I am _honored_ to be fighting with such brave men.  I do not fight as your prince or leader, but alongside with each of you, for the love of Camelot.  Sir Owain, you will take half of the men around the right flank.  The other half will follow Sir Tory into the forest to await my signal. Sir Leon will follow me up the center with ten men to rendez-vous with the other knights.”

It was an unspoken agreement that Merlin would stay by Arthur’s side during the battle.

The men remained quiet and still, expectant.

“For the love of Camelot!”  shouted Arthur, and the cry was echoed joyously in a chorus of voices.

The knights mounted the few horses they were allowed and separated in their respective duties, silently preparing for the coming battle.

Arthur, Merlin, Leon and the ten men rode on for a half mile, and despite his normal chattiness, even Merlin was silent. Something had changed and this battle was different.  It held more; it meant more.

Arthur didn’t know whether to take it as a blessing or a warning.

When they caught up to the other Camelot troops, they were already engaged with the Umbrian barbarians.  The clash of metal swords and maces was distinct and sharp, and there was already the tang in the air that followed bloodshed on the battlefield.

Merlin watched as in slow motion as Arthur charged confidently in to the melee.  It may have been Arthur’s job to protect Camelot, but it was Merlin’s job to protect Arthur, and he would do that to the very best of his ability.

In the midst of a battle, it was easier for Merlin to use his magic without fear of being caught, but the flurry of action distracted him and it was almost impossible for him to ensure both his and Arthur’s safety even without consideration of the other men.

Without being overt about his capabilities, there wasn’t really a lot that Merlin could do.  His eyes flicked frantically over the tangles of men, looking for a man in need of help. To his left he watched as Leon overtook a large, grizzled man who probably weighed more than three Merlins. Swiveling his head back around, Merlin watched as two more soldiers fell under the blade of a knight. Since the charge, Merlin had lost sight of Arthur and could not presently locate the smaller boy among the black and brown clad enemies.  He pushed away the bubbles of fear that threatened to rise up and resumed his search with increased vigor.

_There_. Arthur was engaging three men. It was evident that he had the advantage, but the Umbrian army was seemingly limitless, and more fighters would fill the spots of the fallen until the crown prince himself fell.

A surge of magic rose up uncalled, the energy prickling all over Merlin’s skin.  A murmured word sent bolts of power rushing at Arthur’s assailants, striking them squarely in the chest and leaving them incapacitated.

Just as Merlin was sighing out the breath he didn’t know he had been holding, he saw Arthur’s face go from one of astonished relief to confused anguish.  The soft squelch alerted both of the boys to the cause as a barbarian pulled a dagger from Arthur’s chainmail and collapsed, his last living act completed.

Merlin’s fear was quickly replaced by something deeper, darker, and he felt he wanted to vomit, even as Arthur’s name burst its way out of his lips, the syllables tearing the lining of his throat as the air was ripped from his mouth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” came the steady babble as Merlin tripped and stumbled his way over to his prince.  “Arthur,” he cried as he reached the boy’s side, fingers already probing for the wound.

“Merlin, good man, it’s just a flesh wound. See—ahhh,” Arthur’s nonchalant tone was betrayed by the ashen pallor of his face and the sharp intake of breath as the pain moved through his body.

“You’re injured, idiot,” said Merlin, taking a cue from Arthur.

“And you’re going to get us both killed,” retorted Arthur haltingly

Merlin was sure that at any moment the enemy would descend upon them and it would be over.  He closed his eyes and steeled his will for the inevitable.

And then something else was blocking the light from his eyes and hoisting them onto a horse.

_Sir Johan_ , thought Merlin.  _But he was supposed to be with Sir Owain_.

“Sir Owain,” wondered Arthur, echoing Merlin’s thoughts

“Doesn’t follow orders,” finished Johan. “But our priorities were you, sire, and the Umbrians are retreating as we speak.”

“In that case…” Arthur trailed off, his head slumping as Johan spurred the horse forward to Camelot and away from the day’s shaky victory.


	3. Chapter 3

The horses trotted on easily, but at the current pace, Camelot was certainly more than a day’s ride away, and Arthur could not hold on that long without treatment.

“Johan,” Merlin began to voice his worries.

“I know, but Arthur, will he be able to—”

“I have him.  Please, just, we need to go faster.”  Merlin pleaded with the knight, anxiously searching his face for a sign of agreement.

Johan nodded and Merlin released a sigh of relief when his own mount jolted into a slow gallop.

His arms tightened instinctively around Arthur, brushing up against the temporary bandage affixed to the site of his wound, eliciting an unconscious groan from the boy.  Merlin’s hands were stained red from earlier attempts to staunch the blood flowing from Arthur’s body.  In some areas, the blood had dried to a rusty brown, and Merlin picked idly at it as they rode.

The journey itself passed rather uneventfully. Every so often Johan would turn in the saddle to check on the two boys, and every time Merlin would shout back, “We’re fine!” 

By the fourth time this happened, Merlin was beginning to feel the effects of a long day of battle and riding. Though the horse was doing most of the work, Merlin still had to work at keeping Arthur upright and relatively still. His muscles ached and his eyes drifted lower and lower with each breath.  Finally, Merlin gave up his struggle and rested his chin on Arthur’s broad shoulder.  His head fit nicely where Arthur’s neck sloped into his chest and he took note of the stretch of skin—relaxed yet firm and smelling of sweat.  Reaching his hand up to brush the fringe from Arthur’s brow, Merlin noticed that Arthur was clammy and feverish.  Hurriedly removing his cotton neckerchief and wetting it from the water skin, Merlin brought the folded cloth to Arthur’s face.

The moisture left a path for sweet wisps of air to come along and cool the flushed skin, temporarily lifting the fever away. Merlin moved on to Arthur’s neck. As he swiped the cloth along, he followed it with his mouth, planting his lips tentatively on the tight ride of muscle that lay in wait under the surface of skin.  The metallic tang of stream water and sweat combined in a taste that was just so purely Arthur, Merlin was overwhelmed by it.

He looked up to see Johan gazing at them intently.

“We’re fine,” shouted Merlin, his voice separating and flattening out over the vowels.

“We’re approaching the lower towns,” said Johan.

Merlin nodded in acknowledgement before remembering that Johan would most likely not see him in the quickly falling dusk.

The ride through the lower towns to the Citadel seemed tortuously long.  Their speed was slowed by the bustling villagers and several wary looks were thrown their way. Finally they arrived at the steps to the castle.  Johan jumped off of his horse and came to Arthur, dragging the boy down from Merlin’s grasp as another foot servant rushed over to help the knight and his prince. Merlin half fell off of his own horse in his hurry.  He flung the reins at one of the attending stable boys and took the stairs by two to catch up to Arthur and Johan.

When he reached them, they had already arrived at Gaius’ chambers.  Arthur was awake now and being helped gingerly on to the bed.  Merlin’s fingers itched to help Gaius as he removed the armor from Arthur’s body, desiring above all to dart in between physician and man and attend to his prince.

Gaius took note of Merlin’s fidgety restlessness.

“If you want to help go get water, herbs,” he said, releasing Merlin from the spot he had been rooted to. “And you too, Sir Johan. I can manage this on my own.”

“Thank you, Gaius,” said Johan as he exited the room.

Merlin returned to Arthur’s bedside to find him unconscious again, but with the asked for water and herbs, his hands still trembling violently.

“Calm down, boy!  You’ll do him no good if you spill the water on him.”

Gaius’ words did nothing to settle Merlin, who kept his eyes fixed to the site of Arthur’s injury, where Gaius had peeled away the dirty bandage.

“He’ll be fine, Merlin,” said Gaius, sparing a second to look up at the worrying boy.  “See, a shallow wound.  It will need to be attended to daily, but you can handle that, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

Merlin watched as Gaius cleaned the area around the gash before heating a sharp needle to sew it closed.  The coarse, dark catgut pulled the torn flesh together, and then the imperfection was hidden under a new bandage.

“He’ll need to rest here the night, Merlin. Are you hungry?”

And Merlin realized that he was.

After dinner, Merlin remained by Arthur’s bedside, attempting to study a large volume about medicinal herbs and their various uses.  He wasn’t aware that he was falling asleep until Gaius was shaking him awake and telling him to go to his bed. Merlin tried to protest, but he was malleable in his exhaustion and soon found himself face down in his straw mattress, the preparation methods of witch hazel floating through his mind.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Merlin woke to the implacable sensation of having heard something.  He was about to go back to sleep when he heard it again.

“Mer…lin…”

_Arthur_ , remembered Merlin.  He crept down the stairs to the main room.  Gaius was still asleep and snoring loudly, but Arthur was evidently conscious now, idly thrashing about.

“Arthur, Arthur, shh.”  Merlin took hold of the boy’s shoulders, gently helping him reach a sitting position.  “You’re feverish again,” he noticed.

“Water,” Arthur croaked out.

As Merlin got up to retrieve the pitcher and a cup, Arthur’s hand shot out and caught Merlin by the wrist momentarily before letting go.

Merlin tended to Arthur and made sure he was as comfortable as possible before he turned to go back to his bed.

“No, stay, please,” said Arthur sleepily, the herbs again taking effect.

Who was Merlin to refuse the request of his prince? So Merlin retrieved his blanket and sat down beside Arthur’s bed, watching as he fell back to sleep.

His eyes fluttered and his breath evened out as the minutes passed.  The room was dark, but Arthur’s skin seemed to glow with a faint luminescence of its own. Merlin traced the lines of Arthur’s face with his eyes, comparing the innocence of sleep with the maturity and intensity of battle. Before long, Merlin himself was also drifting out of consciousness.


	4. Chapter 4

Gaius found them that way in the morning, Merlin’s head pillowed on Arthur’s arm.

“I told you to go to bed, Merlin,” he said in admonishment.

“Arthur woke up.” Merlin shrugged. “And you were snoring.”

“Hmph. The injured don’t seem to mind.”

“You have at least five poisons that would readily kill them as they slept. I would think so!”

“I certainly hope you haven’t poisoned me, Gaius,” said Arthur as he walked up to the small table where they were eating their breakfast.

“Of course not, sire. Could I offer you something to eat?”

Arthur joined the table and slid tentatively onto the seat next to Merlin.

They ate in relative silence, the clank of spoons on clay bowls accompanied only by the sound of their working mouths.

The small bench that Merlin and Arthur sat on was not meant to accommodate more than one person, and as such, Arthur brushed against Merlin’s side every time he brought another bite to his lips. Their long, gangly legs knocked together as Merlin tried to shift his body.

Gaius watched as the two boys fidgeted like young pups.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Off with the both of you. And Arthur, no training today.”

Gaius affixed the young prince in his gaze, one eyebrow raised tellingly.

Merlin quickly fitted Arthur into his standard day tunic, taking care to avoid the wound.

“You’ll need to change that later, Merlin,” added Gaius, but they were already leaving the room and shutting the door behind them.

As they walked down the corridors of the castle, it was obvious that Arthur was working over several phrases in his head, stuck between a desire to speak and a desire to stay silent.

“You,” Arthur started. “I asked you to stay last night. I’m sorry, you should’ve gone to bed.”

“S’alright. You were injured and feverish. And there really isn’t any difference between the bed and the floor.”

Arthur looked horrified at this, so Merlin continued.

“A few blankets and a place to put my head are all I need.”

“And what of the battle?” Arthur asked.

“There were casualties on both sides, but it was a decisive victory—for Camelot.”

“I made a mistake,” admitted Arthur defeatedly. “It should have been simple, easier, I should have done better. They trusted me to lead them into and out of battle.”

“We _won,_ Arthur. You were successful.”

“I was wounded,” countered Arthur angrily, a ferocious light roaring in Arthur’s eyes for a split second.

“You were taking on three men at a time, and you killed them all. It was a fluke,” rationalized Merlin, not shaken by Arthur’s temper.

“Not to my father,” he responded dismally.

And so they found themselves in the throne room. Merlin stood behind Arthur at the end of the long table. At the other end sat Uther, who had yet to look up from the papers before him since Arthur and Merlin had entered the room.

“Father,” prompted Arthur cautiously.

“You must prepare for the unexpected at every moment, Arthur.”

“Yes, father. The dagger, it was a fluke.”

“Kings can’t afford flukes!” Uther roared. “A fluke could mean your assassination. A fluke could mean that the whole of Camelot burns.”

Uther was standing by now, his hands planted on the table, and hew as glaring down its length at Arthur. Merlin could see the physicality of Arthur’s reaction to the words. Arthur’s fingers curled tightly in his palms and he shook with anger as he receded into himself, his jaw set firmly even as his lips were soft and sad.

“And what good leader rides off to safety while his men still do battle?”

“He was injured,” shouted Merlin, and both Pendragons turned sharply to look at the servant. “You asked him to lead his men and he did. You won the battle with his guidance. He was injured fighting off three men larger than himself, and he still is, and your ire does nothing but worsen his condition.”

Merlin’s face was now fully flushed, his hands clenched tightly by his sides. He had during the course of his rant stepped up slightly in front of Arthur as if to protect him from Uther’s wrath.

But Uther hardly spared a glance at the boy.

“Arthur, I’ve told you too many times to get a hold on your manservant. I’ll not stand for this insolence in my presence. Guards!”

The two armored men standing outside of the room then rushed in.

“To the stocks, if you please,” said Uther. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a piece of art by tumblr user elvishness: http://tinyurl.com/oqt7yy4


End file.
